April 13th, 2007
{daily archives}
Saint Freud, where art thou? (or Of Love and Other Demons)
To my absolute horror, I have just realized that about seventy percent of the fiction I pen down are love stories. Or love poems.
I guess that this trait can be traced back to one of my Freudian nightmares in childhood, but that doesn’t help me in coping up with this mess. I mean, what sort of people keep writing one love story after another! Someone might try to point out P G Wodehouse here; but then, he was funny. Anything can be excused if it is funny enough.